the lexicon of apology
by seaofsound
Summary: "This isn't the general store. You can't put feelings on layaway and still expect them to be there when you return." In which time and the girl he loves inevitably move with the force and velocity of a waterfall between thin, fibrous fingers. — cam departs for oak tree town, leaving bluebell, the café, and lillian behind.


this has been in my drafts for a while. idk if it'll ever get finished but here it is

* * *

 **the lexicon of apology**

You're sure about this, then?

Positive.

All right, well...

Lil—

Have a safe trip.

...Yeah. Of course.

* * *

Please don't wait for me, he wants to say. Please don't be upset. Please don't be angry. But he is not a skilled wordsmith, especially not when it comes to this variety of raw emotion. He is awkward and yearning and needs _this_ , needs to chase any opportunity that comes his way else he'll never forgive himself for so freely dealing out the gift of guilt. He can only hurt her so much; wanting is out of the question for now. The pros and cons have at least told him that much.

He does not—cannot—look back to meet her gaze as he walks the familiar path to the mountain, eyes looking straight ahead to the future, away from the safety net of home cooking and having someone to hold and to hold him. He has never quite needed these things before; what is the use in starting now, at this moment, when he is already on a divergent path? It has been quite some time since he last made such a large departure; he can't even recall how old he was then, only that he'd been promised food and shelter and comfort in the form of the overzealous Howard and the prim and proper Laney.

If he does glance back, it is only to make sure she's not watching anymore. She has already retreated back into her tiny farm house, and he can't suppress his disappointment, however selfish it may be. He hopes, perhaps unwillingly, that she's not already awaiting his return.

* * *

Oak Tree Town is far, farther than any distance he'd ever traveled. Farther than the mountain path between Bluebell and Konohana and the angry, vindictive trench between the two towns. But even then Lillian found a way to breach that distance, forging a path not only for herself, but for everyone on either end. He can't help feeling silly, unable to create any sense of direction just for himself. He has never been a leader nor a follower, because to be either of those things requires a destination. He wanders with the wind, as the seeds of dandelions do every spring and summer, with the hope that he'll end up someplace suitable, but that hope is a dim one—has always been a dim one—and gravel crunching under his feet and the metal of a train rattling his body feel almost spiteful, as if mocking him with all his uncertainties about the future and the many things and people he left behind.

He prays—not to the Harvest Goddess, but to Lillian (and for himself), in hopes that she does not, will never, hear his doubts.

* * *

The innkeeper is warm and friendly enough to meet him at the gates of town at an ungodly hour. Cam did not plan on arriving this late, but the insurmountable distance from Bluebell makes this almost an inevitability. Crickets chirp along with the heat of summer and the paved roads feel smooth under his heels; he finds himself missing the steps to the inn and the comforting aroma of coffee at all hours. The inn lobby smells of polished wood and artificial air freshener that can never amount to the scents of Howard's café, but Maurice's worn yet companionable smile eases the crick in Cam's spine that crawled into him so insidiously during his arrival. Maurice mumbles affably, quietly, as he leads Cam up the creaky wooden stairs, through the hallway that hides traces of the aroma of wood varnish, and to his quarters.

The room is bigger than the one back at Howard's, the walls and couches and sheets accented with yellow and a mild detergent scent. Cam settles his bags down upon the floor, raking his eyes over the emptiness of the room, and wonders what Howard and Laney have done with their new spare rooms that once housed his meager possessions and passions. Perhaps they now contain various food supplies, or rolls of fabric, or tubs of makeup—whichever, whatever, Cam hopes they make the most of his vacancy.

"Breakfast is served at seven, but after that I'm afraid you'll have to fend for yourself." Maurice offers him a mildly apologetic grin. Cam tries to reciprocate. "My daughter Lillie's the one that cooks around here, not me, and she's busy with work except in the mornings. I'm sure you saw we have a restaurant in town. Raeger's great, but I never have the time to pass by myself. You say hi to him for me if you decide to eat there, 'kay?" Nodding awkwardly, Maurice clasps his fingers together. "We should both hit the sack."

Maurice exits with the click of the door. Cam slips into his own, personal bathroom before sticking himself under the relentless—unforgiving—pounding of hot water on his face.


End file.
